


A Fine Line

by Anonymous



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftercare, Angry Castiel (Supernatural), BDSM, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Confinement, Dean fucks up, Dominance, Groping, Isolation, Locked In, M/M, Mummification, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Denial, Submission, Under-negotiated Kink, Wax Play, unsafe kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-27 03:50:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17759249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Dean’s been working on this for a while.  He’s researched, made sure he knows exactly how it’s going to work and that Cas is fully on board.And Cas is, right up until Dean suggests a slight change in the plan, which doesn’t work out quite as well as either of them anticipated.





	A Fine Line

**Author's Note:**

> Dean feels Cas is safe here, that he’s taken sufficient precautions to ensure it. But that’s kind of Cas’s decision to make, and Cas wasn’t really given enough time to think clearly about it before being asked to make a decision. 
> 
> This is why our boys definitely need to use their words. More. And before they go changing the game plan when playing like this.

By the time Dean came back, Cas had stripped, and moved to sit on the wide marble plinth they’d found in one of the lower level dungeons.

The room itself was perfect for their use, and had quickly been claimed by Dean as ‘their’ space; Sam had fortunately got the message without his older brother having to be _too_ specific about what they wanted the room for and why he should steer clear of it. As far as they knew, he’d never ventured near, respecting their privacy (and, according to Dean, not wanting to see something he’d never, ever forget).

All the same, Dean had taken precautions; especially this time, when they would be down here a while.

“He’s not gonna be back tonight,” the hunter said. “There’s a witness he wants to question a little further.”

Dean waggled his eyebrows and grinned, prompting Cas to sigh. Sometimes, it was hard to remember Dean was the _older_ brother.

But that did mean they had the bunker to themselves at least in to tomorrow morning, if not a little longer, and Cas knew Dean had plans to fill most of that time.

He lay back carefully in the slight recess set around an inch deep in the plinth, making sure he was as comfortable as possible.

Once Dean got started, he’d be there a while.

The hunter came into view, looking down at him, the earlier childish humour gone from his face. “You remember your safe word?”

Cas nodded. “Prius.”

Dean scowled, and it took some effort for Cas not to grin. 

“Way to kill the mood,” Dean muttered, but he went and rolled over a trolley, and Cas eyed the large clay pot on top of it.

He knew Dean had planned this all out carefully, but now they were actually doing it, Cas couldn’t deny his nervousness.

But he also couldn’t deny he was more than a little excited. The thought of giving himself over to Dean, letting the hunter have domination over his body, trusting Dean to make this good for both of them….

Cas felt his body react to that promise. He’d been eager to give Dean his submission since Dean had mentioned this particular fantasy of his, but the method his human wanted to use had also captured Cas’s imagination.

Dean was, as always, inventive.

And Cas trusted him, but there was still that line he always felt like he was straddling.

Dean held his hand over the pot, and spoke aloud the spell he’d been working on, testing and retesting, until he knew it was right.

The sides of the pot glowed ember red, and then faded back to their original colour.

Cautiously, Dean tapped a finger against the side of the pot and drew back quickly, in case, but then he let his whole hand rest there, and nodded at Cas.

“It works.” There was a ladle next to the pot, and Dean dipped it inside, and then lifted it so Cas could see, tipping it over, letting Cas watch as a fine wax mixture poured back out.

He stirred the pot leisurely, but he never took his eyes off Cas.

“What do you think it’ll feel like, Cas? Covered in this. Not able to move a single inch, only able to feel what I’m doing to you. I can’t wait to see what you look like in it.”

Cas clenched his fists, trying to drive down the heat pooling in him and threatening to rise up beyond his ability to control. 

He didn’t want this to be over before it started.

But Dean seemed ready, then, and wheeled the trolley a little closer before picking up the ladle again.

The first few drops of wax, dribbled carefully onto the skin of his stomach, held heat but didn’t burn. Cas felt them cool almost instantly as they spattered down onto him, and it settled his nerves a little.

He wouldn’t be hurt. But he would still be helpless, once Dean was done, vulnerable and in the hunter’s complete control.

Part of him couldn’t wait.

Dean didn’t rush; he was careful, precise, moving with a strict methodology. He worked outward from where he’d started, covering Cas’s middle first.

He moved up, applying that first fine layer over Cas’s chest, and shoulders, stopping just at the base of his neck. His arms followed, Dean making sure every inch was covered, before he did the same to Cas’s feet and legs.

His pelvis and genitals came last, until the only part of Cas not coated was his neck and head.

The excess wax had pooled beneath him, ensuring the parts Dean couldn’t reach were also covered, and forming an additional layer that sealed Cas to the plinth.

“Can you move?” Dean asked.

Cas tried, applying a little pressure to the wax. It cracked, but not easily, and Dean gave him a wolfish grin.

“Another couple of layers, and it’d be solid,” he said.

Cas held still as Dean went over him again, and again, building the wax up. Each layer was paper thin, but the magic Dean had worked made sure it was as strong as if it had been several inches thick.

And the little extra ingredients he’d added made sure that, even though it was just wax, thin enough for Dean to crumble under his human fingers, it would hold an angel.

At least until his human chose to release him.

It took Dean almost an hour to finally be done. 

He put down the ladle, and stepped back to admire his work.

“Now try,” he said.

Cas didn’t have to in order to know he was helpless; he’d been surreptitiously pressing against his wax casing, even before Dean was done, and any part of him cocooned was held immobile.

He was truly helpless.

“Safeword?” Dean asked again.

“Prius,” Cas said, and was surprised to hear how brittle his voice sounded.

Dean stroked his fingers through the angel’s hair. “Cas? You want to stop? Give me a colour, baby.”

Cas focused on Dean’s touch, knowing he’d never be safer anywhere than he was with Dean, that Dean would never hurt him.

“Green,” he said. “Please, Dean. Keep going.”

Dean pushed the trolley aside, and walked slowly around the plinth. Looking, not touching, eyes hungry. He was still clothed, but in a sense, so was Cas, though he felt extra vulnerable with Dean still dressed.

“You look fucking amazing,” Dean said. He ran his fingers along the edge of the plinth; Cas could almost feel how close they were to him, but still Dean didn’t touch. “Just trapped under there, painted with that stuff. But it’s like it’s almost transparent. I can see every part of you, Cas. And I can _touch_ every part of you. And you can’t do anything about it.”

Cas heard a low, desperate whine, and realised it was coming from himself. 

“Dean,” he panted. He couldn’t bear Dean just staring at him, as if he were an object on display, to be looked at, and nothing more.

“Ssssh,” Dean said, and then his hands were touching.

Cas closed his eyes, concentrating on the feel of Dean’s fingers skimming his body. The wax might be able to contain him, but it was still thin enough to be almost absent; Cas could follow every stroke, every moment of almost there pressure as Dean teased his way across his body.

He played with Cas’s nipples for a while, circling them before pinching with his thumb and forefinger, the wax that held Cas providing no protection against the sudden bite. 

Neither did his Grace, as locked away as his physical form, and he was left struggling futilely as Dean brought him to the edge of what he could bear.

He gave him a reprieve then, briefly, resting his hand on Cas’s stomach while he recovered.

“Colour, Cas.”

“Yellow,” Cas answered, honestly. Dean had drawn from him a promise at the start that if they were going to explore each other’s fantasies, it wouldn’t work, wouldn’t be _safe_ if they each couldn’t trust the other to say when something wasn’t working, there was something they didn’t want to try, or something had gone too far.

Or they just needed to slow things down a little.

Dean kept one hand on Cas’s stomach, grounding him, and went back to running the other through Cas’s hair. He pushed shamelessly into the hunter’s touch; suddenly, the wax layers, thin though they were, had become an unbearable barrier between Dean and actually touching him.

He wanted those hands, roughened by handling guns and knives, by carving stakes, by fighting to save innocents, yet still so shockingly gentle, to be _on_ him, and he wasn’t aware he was babbling that until Dean leaned down and kissed him.

When he pulled back, he was cupping Cas’s cheek.

“We can stop,” he said.

And there was a part of Cas that wanted that. But there was another part that was hungry for Dean to continue with this torment, because when Dean finally released him, the reward for that deprivation would be overwhelming.

It would be worth it.

“No,” he said. “Green. Keep going.”

So Dean did. He traced the outline of Cas’s hips, stroked in and down, and Cas cursed in Enochian, drawing a wicked laugh from the human, when Dean’s fingers came to rest lightly on his cock.

He felt everything, the wax no impediment to Dean playing, and it was maddenly frustrating; every single moment of sensation provoking a reaction that his body couldn’t fulfil. If not for the wax, Cas knew he would be firm in Dean’s hand, instead of straining against his confinement.

Dean seemed to know too, and showed little mercy.

And then, just when Cas was sure he could bear no more, Dean retreated.

He circled the table again, while Cas tried to reclaim control of his body, even illusory though it might be.

Dean had come to the head of the plinth, and then he cupped his hand under Cas’s chin, and started to tilt back his head.

“You okay for this?”

Cas could feel himself sinking deeper into everything, yet still sure Dean wouldn’t let him drop too far.

“Can I stop you?”

Dean seemed suddenly frozen. His pupils seemed almost blown, so dark and wide, and Cas could hear his heart thudding.

“No,” he said, and then Cas opened his mouth, and Dean had to tip his head back far enough that a human wouldn’t have been able to bear it, but Cas could.

He let Dean slide in, swallowing to make it easier, to help him get seated, and the deep groan told him how appreciated his assistance was.

“So fucking good to me,” Dean mumbled, and Cas let Dean hold him there while he made slow, almost lazy thrusts that seemed unlikely to go anywhere until Dean didn’t pull even part way out.

Instead, he pushed in deeper, until Cas’s throat was full and Dean could go no further.

He felt Dean run a finger down the bulging outline of his own dick, and then his throat was filled with a bitter salt-taste.

Dean was breathing hard when he pulled out, then leaned forward until his forehead was touching Cas’s.

“You’re a fucking miracle,” he said. “Still okay?”

Cas nodded, but now that Dean had taken _his_ pleasure, he found himself more desperate for Dean to reciprocate.

“Can you…. Dean, I need you to touch me.”

“I am,” Dean said, and Cas could hear the mirth in his voice.

“I think you know what I mean.”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Yeah. But maybe...what if I made you wait for it?”

He pulled back just enough to look Cas in the eye; his hand came to rest just under Cas’s jaw, making sure they didn’t stop looking at each other.

“Dean?”

“You feel good, right, Cas? You’re straddling the line right now, enjoying that edge. You want it, but that anticipation, fuck, I know what’s it like, nearly as good as when you finally get to come.”

He couldn’t lie; Dean had controlled his body before, not quite like this; but he had decided when Cas got to come, and it was both torture and intense delight in that same instant.

“Alright,” he said.

Dean kissed him again. “Angel,” he said. “You’re gonna be fine, Cas. I’m gonna be right upstairs, you’ll be safe down here, and when I came back down in the morning…”

 _The morning_?

“I’m gonna make you come so hard you might just pass out. You gonna do this for me, Cas?”

A little discussion, before now, would have been appreciated. But sometimes Dean changed direction, and Cas had never been given cause to regret Dean carrying him along.

He knew he wouldn’t regret it, knew Dean would never be proposing this if he wasn’t sure he could keep him, Cas, safe.

“Yes,” he said.

Dean kissed him one last time, and then he was gone, closing the dungeon door over behind him.

++

It was maybe an hour later, his body gradually settling, when Cas realised he had no way of actually calling Dean.

Not that he was in any dire situation; as Dean had said, he was safe down here, in a warded room, with his hunter standing guard elsewhere in the bunker.

They could play in ways a fully human couple couldn’t; it allowed Dean a greater leeway in indulging them both, but Cas (now that his brain wasn’t being overwhelmed by the pleasure Dean had inflicted) had become aware of the fact that Dean was no longer, effectively, in full control of the situation.

That wasn’t a comfortable realisation.

He strained, a little, against the wax, but he hadn’t expected to get free and so wasn’t too surprised when he heard it crackle, a little, but fail to give.

There was still part of him that was ridiculously turned on by all of this; Dean could come and go as he pleased, touch him, bring him to the very edge and then drag him back from it (and Dean was very good at that, bringing nearly impossible orgasms when he finally, finally let Cas tumble over).

But with Dean not actually there, Cas wasn’t enjoying it so much. Dean had often rendered him helpless, them both enjoying the submission, but he’d always been _there_.

Cas was starting to regret agreeing to Dean leaving. 

But, he reasoned, Dean would need to return before Sam did. Would want to finish this before his brother came back, and asked why Dean was upstairs and Cas was not.

Still, waiting down there, alone, was starting to irritate him. 

There just wasn’t anything he could do about it.

++

Cas figured Dean had either gotten bored or was as uncomfortable with leaving Cas alone as Cas was uncomfortable being left alone, because he returned earlier than Cas expected.

Still longer than he was pleased with, but he was grateful when he heard the dungeon door open.

Dean was suddenly at his side, looking him over, as if assuring himself Cas was okay.

“Hey,” he said.

Cas glared up at him. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten about me.”

A flash of hurt showed on Dean’s face. “Seriously?”

“I didn’t think you’d be gone so long. You’ve…”. He realised how he sounded, _neglected_ , petulant, and then remembered how Dean hadn’t strictly keep to their agreement here.

That when he was in control, he’d be _in control_ and that had stopped being the case.

“You shouldn’t have left me down here by myself.” 

Dean seemed to see Cas’s genuine irritation then, his concern, and he didn’t try to push it aside. He stroked Cas’s face gently, and Cas had learned all his hunter’s ways of apologising.

“I would never leave you in a position where you could get hurt,” he said, still, and Cas didn’t doubt it.

All the same, the control Dean had over him was because Cas gave it to him, and he could only give it to Dean when he knew exactly what it entailed.

“This is something we’re going to talk about,” he said.

Dean nodded, and then he was reaching forward, hand resting over Cas’s heart, the spell word on his lips that would undo all of this.

“Wait,” Cas said. Because he had gone through all of this, and Dean was here now, and Cas deserved to get off too. He wanted this to finish the way they’d planned (not that he’d forgotten Dean’s unscripted deviation).

Dean hesitated. “Cas?”

“You said something about making me come so hard I might just pass out. Were you just too sure of yourself?”

Dean’s mouth dropped open, the expression almost comical. It wasn’t often Cas wrong footed him, and he could see him scrabbling to get his balance again.

“Look, Cas…”

“I’m not safewording,” Cas said. “My colour is green.”

Dean leaned down, and kissed him, and Cas groaned into his hunter’s mouth as he felt Dean stroke him, starting in fast, not wasting any time.

“Yeah, you like that, don’t you,” Dean said. “You’re filthy desperate for it, aren’t you, Cas? Love it when I touch you and you can’t do anything about it, just take it, come on, angel, come for me. Cas, just let it go. Come on.”

His words were the extra push Cas needed, and he gave a broken cry as finally, finally, Dean pushed him over the edge, but didn’t let him fall alone.

Cas didn’t even hear him saying the word that would free him, but then the wax was crumbling and Dean picked and brushed away any stubborn patches.

He got Cas to sit up, and he had a bottle of orange juice, and he uncapped it and then put it to Cas’s lips.

“Come on, angel,” he said. “Take this for me, okay?”

Cas obliged him, knowing Dean was always worried about keeping Cas with him, and just then he needed it.

He was cold, and it felt like he’d been rubbed raw inside, and yes, he figured drop might be a viable concern.

The next thing he knew, Dean was wrapping a blanket around him, and had climbed up onto the plint to sit next to him, and was pulling Cas in to his side.

“I got you, Cas,” he said. “I’m right here, angel. Just rest, okay?”

Cas nodded. He could rest, because Dean was here, and because his body was reacting to the intensity of the experience, now that it was done.

He felt Dean kiss his hair, and snuggled in a little deeper.

“This doesn’t mean we’re not having that conversation,” he muttered.

Dean nodded. “The minute you wake up, that you’re back with me,” he promised.

Cas relaxed as he felt Dean’s arms tighten around him, making it easier to give in when he felt his eyes grow heavy and close, sure that this time Dean wouldn’t be going anywhere.

**Author's Note:**

> Never leave your partner alone in bondage, folks. Even if they are a angel.


End file.
